From The Gutter To Your Heart
by TKDP
Summary: A beautiful woman has made my acquaintance in The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls. Her unwavering cheerfulness and heart of gold won me over from the moment I met her. Oh Veronica, it has only been a week and I already know you are the one.


**Hello readers! Well, I know I'm quite tardy-to-the-party when it comes to 'The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls', but I got it recently, and loved it so much that it only took me four days to read it. For anyone who hasn't read this book, it's about 260 pages long, but since it's large, it's more like 500 regular pages long. But it's SO good that despite the length I read it fast. Did you know in some colleges 'The Asylum' is part of the curriculum for mental health studies students? Wow! I was so happy to know that Emilie Autumn is making the difference she hoped to. For the record, if anyone still reads 'The Asylum' fanfiction, I've also listened to all of the 'Fight Like A Girl' album and most of 'Opheliac', so I'm well qualified to write a fanfiction for this. Not to mention, I keep up to date with Emilie Autumn's social media, as you'll see in this story. ;)! Speaking of which, who's excited for 'The Asylum Musical'!? I KNOW I am! I'm SO watching it when it goes to Broadway! In fact, the musical is my inspiration for this story, because as soon as Emilie Autumn announced that the Veronica/Emily relationship is the center of the musical, I started shipping it SO hard! (This is my first time writing for 'The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls', so it might not be perfectly in-character. I'll try my best!) (Warning: This is slightly AU.) (Warning 2: This story changes POVs a lot. I know it's a little all over the place, but I thought different POVs were best for this story.) (Warning 3: I use a few lines straight from the book, and I'd like everyone to know that these lines and The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls belongs to Emilie Autumn** ** _only_** **.) Now that you know about my love of all things Emilie Autumn, I suppose it's time to start the story!**

 _Emilie's POV: (XVI)_

There is a voluptuous beauty called Veronica who occupies the bed next to mine in Ward A. It took me but a few days to realize Veronica's two legitimate oddities: She always believes she is being pardoned from the Asylum and is going home the next day, and she always seems to be in a state of undress. Veronica radiates joy and confidence, a welcome change to the common doubt and despair permeating the Asylum. Somehow, even when I am at my lowest, I feel stronger when I am with her. Veronica's relentless ebullience makes it impossible to hold grudges against her, or even dislike her in the slightest.

Veronica tells me she was once a dance hall girl, but developed her own routine. She also tells me that, once we are pardoned (as if that will ever happen), she will take it upon herself to teach me to dance. While I had been well taught in the domestic arts in the Music Conservatoire, I had never truly been educated in the art of dancing, as Veronica insists she had. I know how to waltz and a few simple steps, but that is about it. However, one thought prevails to me the more I come to know Veronica: Even if I were a ballerina for Queen Victoria, I would play the amateur for an excuse to have Veronica's arms around my waist. There is no doubt, I would not trade my moments spent speaking with Veronica for anything in the world, and hugging her…well, that is an entirely different sensation.

Veronica constantly calls out to the Chasers: "Who wants to kiss me?" and sometimes, just sometimes, I feel a strange stab of jealousy. Where this comes from, I haven't a clue. All I know is that there is no person other than Veronica of whom I would want to be the object of affections to.

Where, you may ask, has this sudden attraction come from? Well, once one has known Veronica for a week, they feel as though they have known her for a year. Veronica has no problem telling anyone and everyone about her divine past of dancing and pleasure, she is open in a way I never can be. How I admire her for that...for now, I remain watching, writing, from a distance. Somehow, I know this attraction does not belong within the asylum walls.

Xxx

 _Emilie's POV: (XVIII)_

It is our first day as Ophelias. The Chasers lift us into our gold-and-silver cages, intertwined with flowers, and instruct us on how to act our parts. As if these are not the roles of our lives. Mine is to sit on a swing within the cage, leaning back in a constant state of falling, a suicide pantomime. It is not my ideal performance, but as I may never become the performer I once desired to be, I promise myself that I will embody my performance – become suicide itself.

Only the particularly beautiful or interesting girls are selected to be Ophelias. I was selected for my long, red hair, which I will forever take pride in. Flea was likely selected for her large blue eyes and golden locks. And, well, Veronica…she was selected for everything. As far as I can discern, there is not one flaw in Veronica. If her personality alone is not enough to convince one of her beauty and charm, then surely her curvaceous body will. I cannot help but stare, for she is in the cage across from me. The sheer white dress fits perfectly to her body, accenting her sleek curved and womanly figure. Maybe another girl would feel jealous, but all I feel is wonder. How I wish she were in the same cage as me, at least then I would be able to hear her stories and watch her dance performances for the men ogling us. Somehow, I feel it would make these nights so much more bearable.

Xxx

 _Veronica's POV: (XXII)_

What fun I am having, dancing like I once did upon the great stages of London! Of course, these cages cannot compare to the rich theatre houses, but they will do for now. Oh, I always knew I would dance again! Perhaps the Chasers will not allow it, but look! The audience loves me as much as I remember them to. Well, I will make sure to discount their entry into the theatre when I am released tomorrow. Surely the theatre managers will have a performance planned for me, and if not, I know I can come up with something. After all, I have been theatre-ready for the past three years.

Distracted by my dancing, I am ashamed to say I do not immediately notice my poor Emmy collapse. However, when I see her, I immediately stop my dancing in horror. The crowd around me looks to where I have directed my attention, and are soon hooting and hollering as Emily writhes on the floor. She looks like she is in such terrible pain, but how?! The Ophelia Gallery is the most luxury we have encountered in our time at the Asylum! No matter, I want to be beside her, to help her with her pain. I feel the sudden urge to hold her in my arms until the pain disappears…where did I even come up with that thought?

"Let me out!" I scream, fearing for the worst. Did one of our lousy guests just throw something at Emily?! They are treating her like some kind of circus animal that you can throw a treat at to do a trick. Well, I will not allow it! "Let me out!" I repeat, and a Chaser comes by.

"Quiet!" he shouts. Oh! It is Charlie.

"Oh Charlie, you dashing gent, why don't you let me out of this cage so I can have a quick peek at my friend?" I purr.

"Get back to dancing, we have guests!" demands Charlie.

Well, I did not want to do this, but he leaves me no choice. With one of my fine, muscular dancing legs, I kick Charlie in the jaw, sending him sprawling. Charlie had opened my cage to talk to me, so all I have to do is step over his body and run to the cage of my dear, sweet friend who is starting to bleed.

"The Ophelias have gone wild!" one of the guests screams.

"Stand back," says another, surely male. "They could be dangerous!"

I roll my eyes. "Dangerous is right," I think. "I will be a serious danger to you if you stand between me and Emily!"

I wrap my hands around the bars of her cell door, and give them a good, firm shake. "Emily!" I cry, though she seems to be slipping into unconsciousness. "I'm here, my darling! It will all be okay!" She cannot possibly have heard me, but I feel better knowing that somehow, someway, she must know that I am here.

A Chaser runs to her cage to unlock the cell, which I refuse to step away from. In fact, once the Chaser opens her door, I try to lunge in there to join her. Unfortunately, a swift punch to the jaw from a nearby Chaser is enough to silence me, at least for now.

The Chasers carry my Emily out, and I shout to them. "Take care of her!" Why am I saying such a thing? Why do I even believe the Chasers will care for her, especially when all they have done is hurt and kill?

"Silence!" booms Dr. Stockill, suddenly right in front of me. "You do not have the right to make such demands, you foul creature! To Quarantine with you!"

I look around, and the people that once admired my dancing, the ones I thought might be opposed to Dr. Stockill's orders, are now looking at me with fear, and Dr. Stockill with admiration. No matter, I do not deign to even look them in the eyes: I want no attention from the callous crowd that jeered at poor Emily. I nod to Dr. Stockill immediately, hoping obedience will be my ticket to wherever Emily is.

Xxx

 _Emily's POV: (XXIII)_

I have the Ward B cell to myself no longer, but have been invaded by a welcome guest. When I hear the fuss in the corridor, I go to the bars and see Veronica being led by a chain attached to a collar around her neck, hands bound behind her back. However, despite her degrading circumstance, she walks proudly, sauntering almost, as she always has. It amazes me to see someone with such confidence and certainty; Veronica is an inspiration.

Once the Chaser shoves Veronica into my cell, she begins to seduce him into unbinding her hands. Witnessing this before, I know this is bad for the Chaser, but I am not about to complain after everything the Chasers have done to us.

"Unlock my hands," she coos, detaining the guard with her saucy eyes that secretly make me melt. "Unlock my hands, Charlie boy. Come now, who wants to kiss me?"

The moment he unlocks the iron band from around her wrists, out thrashes her arms, clawing at the man's face. He leaps out of the cell and slams the door on us, muttering about the loathsomeness of females.

"Works every time," says Veronica, quite satisfied with herself. "He never learns, poor thing."

We then proceed to have a heated discussion about why Veronica is here. Veronica proudly claims she is a nymphomaniac, and that the word sounds 'delicious'. However, I feel she is keeping the real reason for her imprisonment a secret to me. After all, this is an Asylum full of maniacs of all sorts. Even if neither of us know what 'nymphomaniac' means, I cannot imagine it is so horrible. Veronica, after all, does not have violent tendencies like some of the other girls, and the worst she has done is attack a Chaser, but never with real harm's intent.

Possibly to avoid this very conversation, Veronica begins to braid her long, dark hair into numerous thin plaits. She began weaving bits of straw into the plaits. I move to sit upon the ground behind her and try my best to smooth the hair she is quickly tangling. I haven't an idea why, but this feeling – Her gentle calm, my hands in her gorgeous hair – feels so _right_.

Veronica begins to talk about her theatre days, how as soon as she is let out (tomorrow, of course) she will see to it that I get into her show without paying a penny. Oh, if I had not been so focused on smoothing her hair, I would have told her that I would pay _every_ penny to watch her perform. Times like these make me wish I possessed a bit of money…goodness, she might actually be making me believe we will get out some day!

For this, I wrap my arms around Veronica, and feel an odd tingling run up her spine. It matches my own. "Thank you, darling," I say, and feel compelled to call her 'darling' again.

Xxx

 _Emily's POV: (XXVI)_

The days are grey and gloomy in Ward B. For lack of other pastime, I am mostly in the habit of sitting in my corner upon my pile of straw, leaning against the wall with my knees to my chest for warmth, watching the days and nights pass through the bars, and writing nonsense.

One day, one particularly gloomy day, I notice my lovely Veronica staring at me from across the cell. She appears pensive about something, but what, I cannot imagine.

Finally, Veronica hops to her feet with the exuberance she always displays. "Well, as long as we are here, I suppose now is a better time than ever to teach you to dance!"

"What?" I ask in confusion. Ward B is hardly the place for dancing, or celebration of any kind.

"Yes!" says Veronica, as though my reaction enforces her idea. "I can teach you my favorite Vaudeville acts!"

I oblige her, and Veronica begins to hum softly, as though to give us a tune to follow. How I wish I had my violin, now more than ever. The Vaudeville act is quite high-energy, Veronica moves her feet so fast it is hard to keep up. I remove my stockings with a bit of flash, while Veronica swings the bottom of her shift as though it is a theatre gown. I quite enjoy learning to dance like a strumpet. Veronica always knows how to lift my spirits, but soon our bare feet are cold against the stone floor, and scraped from pieces of straw. My already-weary limbs are more tired than ever, and I collapse into the straw to catch my breath.

"That was lovely for your first time, my dear," sings Veronica. "I can tell you will be an excellent prodigy!" As far as I can tell, Veronica has burned off none of her energy.

"Let's continue tomorrow," I say, breathless.

"Whatever you want, Emmy. What should we do now? It is terribly boring here, without the Captain, Flea, and Christelle." For a moment, I do not speak. In that moment, Veronica manages to catch sight of my small pile of paper scraps and grabs one. "What are these?" she asks.

"My songs…" I say, slowly.

Veronica's eyes widen. "You write music! How delightful, may I read them?"

I feel a slight blush color my cheeks, but I nod. "Of course, V."

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, she snatches up the papers and starts reading. "These are very good!" she proclaims. "Can you sing them?"

"Excuse me?" I ask. The question seemed ludicrous: no one sings in the Asylum. However, this does not perturb Veronica.

"Can you sing?" asks Veronica. "If so, I want you to sing your song!"

"I am not finished with it yet," I say.

"That does not matter," says Veronica. "Just sing what you have!"

"I suppose I can," I say, taking the papers from Veronica.

I start singing softly, tentatively, but get louder when I realize my voice is not half bad and no Chasers are paying attention. " _Laughing in the gutter, looking at the stars. Listening to her breathing as she passes through these rusty bars. I will press your stocking, lace your corset tight. Free as any bird with wings as wide. I'm free when I am with her. Dancing down the hallway, playing with her chains…How she remains, strong as any storm and just as wild. I'm strong when I am with her! Yes I know, they could separate us, this is true. They don't even hate us, it's just what they do. But if only in my dreams I will follow her from the gutter to the stars._ "

"Wow," says Veronica, softly. "That was beautiful, Emily. Like, really incredible. You're a great singer!"

I smile brightly when I realize how happy my singing has made her. That is what I want, really…to make her happy.

"Could you sing that last line again, though?" asks Veronica. "I've got an idea."

Even though most of Veronica's ideas are quite questionable and usually land her in hot water with the Chasers, I cannot say no to her. " _This is true,"_

 _"_ _This is true,"_ Veronica sings, repeating me the moment after I sing the same words.

" _They don't even..."_

 _"_ _They don't even hate us."_

 _"_ _It's just what they do!"_

 _"_ _It's just what they do!"_

After copying me a bit, and I have to admit, our voices sound incredible, weaving together like an endless braid, we sing in unison. " _But if only in my dreams I will follow her!"_

 _"_ _From the gutter to the stars!_ " I sing, and Veronica breaks apart, adding her own line.

" _Let me show you what 'clever' is!"_ Veronica is never one to miss a spotlight opportunity.

We sing together again. " _They could separate us, this is true. They don't even hate us, it's just what they do!"_ Veronica elongates her vowels and pitches her notes higher than mine, so neither of us sound the same, though we are singing the same words. How does Veronica know so much about music?! " _But if only in my dreams I will follow her!"_

 _"_ _From the gutter to-"_ I sing, slowly.

" _From the gutter to-"_ she breaks off, quickening her notes a bit so we can sing the ending together.

" _The stars!"_ Both of us elongate out vowels, holding out the word 'stars' for a good five beats. Then, we repeat, pitching higher than before. " _The stars…"_

We slowly allow our voices to dwindle into nothing, and I'm vaguely aware of the Ward B inmates staring at us in awe. However, my eyes are for Veronica only, and I realize we are impossibly close.

"That is a lovely song," she whispers. "Am I right to presume it is about a girl in the Asylum?"

I smile. "I think you know exactly who it is about."

Veronica looks speechless, and after a while forms the words. "Who want to kiss-?"

But before she can finish her sentence I am pressing my lips to hers with a passion and hunger I have never felt before. Veronica returns the favor by kissing back, and as one might guess, Veronica is a very good kisser. Our lips dance across each other's like the Vaudeville act, though somehow even more eager and energetic. When we finally pull back, I gasp for breath, but Veronica, with good practice, only smiles. "That was amazing, Emmy. You are quite the excellent kisser, have you ever played 'The Rat Game', before?"

I blush, babbling because my mind cannot form the proper words after that life-changing kiss. "N-no, the Music Conservatoire would never allow it."

Veronica smiles. "Maybe that is another thing I can teach you."

And now we are kissing again, and I am leaning back in my straw bed from the force of Veronica's kiss. I am vaguely aware that the Chasers will severely punish us if they see this, but my mind is so clouded I can only focus on Veronica. For once, not even the Asylum can ruin this moment.

Xxx

Emily's POV: (XXIX)

I stand before Doctor Stockill, fearing for my life although I cannot show it. He asks me if I am suffering, I say only as much as the rest. He asks me if I am still suicidal, I tell him I never _won't_ be, but I will not do it. Then, he asks me the one question I fear: Why?

"I am afraid to leave those that would remain."

I regret how that sounds the instant I say it, but at least it does not give clue to the _actual_ person I am living for.

"Why should you care for them?" asks Dr. Stockill. "They are the filth that paved the streets."

I feel the urge to punch him, for saying that about my friends. For saying that about my Veronica.

"Why should they care for me?" I ask, instead. "I am no better. And yet, they do."

Dr. Stockill looks pensive, and I reflect on the dangers of the man sitting before me. He is a psychopath. He has no value for human life. He kills without mercy, just to break the fragile spirits that still remain in only a small amount of girls.

Three thoughts fly through my head. "Do not let yourself be killed, for Veronica. Do not say anything that will lead to Veronica's death, for her sake and your own. Do not do anything that will lead to an inmate getting killed, for our future."

Xxx

Emily's POV: (XXXVI)

Tears roll down my cheeks at Thomson's words. He is too honest, the poor fellow, but maybe that is what allows me to finally cry the long overdue tears that have been building behind my eyes since I came to this bloody Asylum, like a dam that has held back so much water that the pressure just makes it burst.

Thomson kneels down beside the chaise lounge I sit upon. He wipes away my tears, and suddenly a spot of fear is added to my tea of tears. I can feel the concern and love radiating off of him, like the North Star shining in the dark, evening sky. But if Thomson is the North Star, my Veronica is the aurora borealis. No one can rival her place in my heart, but I feel that Thomson will try. He loves me, and I care so deeply for him, but it just is not love. I do not want to hurt him, but even if I reciprocated his feelings, this would never last.

Xxx

Emily's POV: (XXXVII)

I stare in horror at my own picture. My own picture, advertising the Asylum – or should I say, brothel. I choke on my own tears as I flip through page after page of my beautiful inmates, my friends, now labeled with prices either impossibly high or impossibly low. A single tear rolls down my cheek when I flip to a page displaying my lovely Veronica, smiling and as comfortable with her body as ever. At least she looks genuinely happy… "But she deserves so much more than this…" I think. I rip out the pages that bear my likeness: A fake me, one reclined on a chaise lounge with fragrant flowers in my hair beside a cup of tea, warm for once; in reality these are luxuries I cannot even begin to imagine. For crying out loud, our beds are made of straw, the only flowers are dead (I suspect the soil around the Asylum is infertile to flowers), and the inmates and I are lucky to get a piece of fresh meat in our soup let alone tea!

I come across one picture of me, one I can barely remember taking for I have visited this photography hall too much, and I almost laugh at the inaccuracies: In the picture, a velvet blanket is covering my thighs and fragrant candles are lit around me, rose petals scattered across the blanket. How could I be so foolish?! Pictures of such romanticized things…How could I imagine this would be for a good cause?

I feel nauseous and a stab of pain runs through my stomach, for once not just because the stale bread I ate was moldy. I resist the urge to shout in agony, turning my attention to Veronica's picture instead. She looks so beautiful…I cannot destroy her picture…I rip it out of the book, fold it, and place it in my stocking.

At that moment, Thomson runs in. He begins to beg me to run away with him, but I feel beyond disgusted. Does he not realize that others have tried to run away? Does he not see the locked doors? Does he not hear the screams of tortured girls who try to leave their cages?

"Emily, please listen to me – I didn't know!"

"You didn't know? You didn't know? How could you not know? How much were they paying you to not know?"

He tells me he believed this was all a study of some sorts; I cannot believe he was so gullible. He saw me up close and personal – Did he never wonder where the scars he so diligently painted over came from? The humanity of the mentally ill – What a joke. The study was a lie. My good name – if it still exists – is all but in ruins. The other girls, well, the hysteric screaming coming from The Cell Dr. Stockill has prepared all but demonstrates how they feel about this.

He tries to hold me close, and I do not fight him, for I know it will be the last time we ever touch. No, this is not right…I should be with Veronica now, the other inmates, my _equals_ even if recent events have put me in a better situation than them. All I can think of is Veronica and my guilt that I have been allowing this man to romance me while she and my friends suffer: I wish I could have shared this luxury with her, at least.

I continue to demand answers, despite the embrace. How is it that Thomson knew nothing of the dealings of Dr. Greavesly? Why didn't he think to ask questions?

He kneels before me. "I thought of nothing but you."

"Don't say things like that to me. You have killed me – if not through betrayal, then through your wretched ignorance." I wish to add that he has no right to whisper his sweet nothings into my broken ears when I have a girlfriend waiting for me in my cell, but I decide that will just overcomplicate things and put Veronica in danger.

At that moment, Dr. Stockill hears the noise and comes running in, accompanied by two Chasers and his mother. "Quarantine. Now!" orders Dr. Stockill.

The Chasers come at me prepared for a fight, but they receive none. I hold out my hands to be bound, the fight having left me, as Thomson protests my cruel treatment. The Doctor comes behind Thomson and places a handkerchief to his mouth, causing him to collapse. It tears my heart to see this, but everything is happening just as it was always meant to.

The Chasers drag me to Quarantine and all I can think of is what I am leaving behind. Is it too vain to lament the ending of my favorable treatment? I am likely never to feel a blanket – or anything soft – again. The odds of me ever being kept in good conditions again are slim. After all, I can already barely remember the feeling of warmth and the taste of edible food. And what of my dear friend? Poor Thomson, though far from dead, the Chasers will surely do anything to keep him quiet. Somewhere deep down inside I know Thomson did not mean to betray me, but the pain in my heart and the hard grip of the Chasers' hands around my arms numbs the voices in my head that tell me to forgive.

Xxx

Veronica's POV: (XLVI)

There is word amongst the Chasers that the Royal Lunacy Board will be dropping by for an inspection. Inspections occur only once a year, and are usually no great cause for alarm to the staff. In over three years at the Asylum, I have born witness to multiple inspections. Nothing ever changes, the visitors drive up to our establishment, see the phony architecture and servants pretending to be patients, have lunch with Dr. Stockill (some fine alcohol is invested into this occasion) and the Board is more than happy to give a stamp of approval and go on their merry way.

This is my dear Emily's first inspection, however.

Sadly, my Emily seems to be under the impression that because the villagers have seen the vultures circling our establishment that the board will look past the alluring façade of the Asylum into the horrors hidden beneath. I have found that no one looks beyond the surface because they are too afraid of what they may encounter beneath. After all, is it not easier to approve a masked slaughterhouse than to invest the time into making changes for the good of others? Is it not simpler to allow criminals to torture the insane in peace rather than evict them from their living quarters and let them swarm the public? No one wants to input the time it takes to make change happen. No one wants to care about a bunch of filthy inmates.

It occurs to me that this may be why Emily is still sane. All the inmates have been living in the asylum for so long, some can no longer tell the difference between true and false. Somehow, Emily has looking past the smoke and mirrors to the hidden secrets of our home. Emily knows the truth; Emily knows what is real.

But it is not without cost. I can see the lines etched across her forehead, the dark circles under her eyes, her pale skin and hairs on end. Learning the truth has not been without a toll. The constant worry is weighing on her, not to mention her feelings of responsibility for all the members of the Asylum. She is our rock, she is the light in the dark, she is _real_.

Emily is a terribly real thing in a terribly false world, and that is why she is in so much pain.

Sometimes I think the truly insane have the best lives in the Asylum. When you can no longer tell what is true from what is false, it is almost as if you are unburdened from the horrors of your living situation. You no longer feel the need to rebel, you are content with survival with no question of what might have been. Sometimes I envy these wild girls, free from worry and dignity. I myself am all too aware of reality, how hard it will be for me and all the other girls to reenter society.

After all, I am leaving tomorrow.

Catching me in the midst of my reverie, Emily approaches. "Veronica?' she asks, quietly. It is silent in Ward A, but it is almost four so the inmates will wake soon. Today, the inspection will occur.

"Yes, my dear?" I respond, then I smirk. "Who wants to kiss me?"

Emily smiles and pecks my cheek, but her eyes have a far-off look that catches my attention. "What is it, darling? You can tell me anything." I chuckle. "After all, who would I tell?"

Emily looks a bit skeptical, as though she does not believe me. Oh well, I would not believe myself either. "Do you think this is our chance? With the inspection happening…"

"I'm sorry Emmy, the Lunacy Board never looks past the cover of the book. They will not see what happens behind the fake walls. They will not see what happens inside."

Emily's face falls. "Where…where will we be when this happens?"

"Oh, they will lock us up somewhere, I am sure," I say. I see the look on her face, and hurriedly continue. "And do not get any ideas about alerting the Board of any peculiarities. If you cause trouble, the doctors will kill you. Then I will have to kill you for breaking my heart."

Emily sighs. "Oh fine, it was just an idea. You know I would never do anything to trouble you…for the most part."

We are silent for a minute, and I begin to hum a song I have been working on in my head and am soon singing aloud. " _You may paint my portrait and buy me champagne, but don't kiss me. You may put me over and over again, but don't kiss me. You may call me 'darling' and ask me to dance, for dancing is my cup of tea. No, these lips are not for the taking, but if you'll only agree, that we never should part. You'll be breaking my heart if you don't kiss me…"_

"Did you write that, Veronica?" asks Emily.

"Yes," I say, smiling. "I have been working on the tune since I was in the dance hall, but just recently started stringing together lyrics."

"Why?"

"You inspired me." I tap her nose with a wink.

"W-who is it about…?" asks Emily, slowly.

"It is first about the patrons of the dance hall…but you are the one I don't want to part from," I say.

Emily blushes. "One day you will perform again. I don't know how, or where, but you will."

"Well, I _am_ leaving tomorrow, after all. I will take you with me, dear."

Emily looks like she wants to say something – or object – but pauses and eventually says, quietly. "You know the world outside the striped wallpaper would not accept us together. Can we ever leave this place and be happy?"

"We always find a way," I say, smiling. "How else would we achieve these small moments of happiness in this place? We will be let out eventually, or escape."

"That all depends on if we _can_ ever escape," says Emily. "The odds are not in our favor. This Asylum is crawling with Chasers!"

"Have hope, Emily. No one ever achieved their dreams without it."

Emily and I lay in my bed beside each other, cuddling until the sun rises. I smile at her, facing her, and kiss her nose as the inmates awaken around me. The inspection will begin soon.

Xxx

At this point, I am sitting in Ward B beside Emily, the Captain, Flea, Joanna and Christelle, along with other members of the Striped Stocking Society, waiting for the inspection to end or any sign of something unusual.

I have come to the conclusion that the higher up a Ward cell is, the more insane an inmate. It feels like any inmate who is not too starved or blood-deprived to cause trouble has been shoved into the highest reaches of the Asylum. We are already hidden, so why else would we be placed so high? Maybe the doctors do not want us to be heard…but the walls are thin. Surrounded by Chasers, no one dares make a sound except the truly stark-raving lunatics that the Chasers claim to 'be dealing with' (I fear the words). But if one of us, one of the fearful but sane, make a noise…

Will anyone hear us? Will anyone save us?

Xxx

Veronica's POV: (XLVII)

The inmates must be careful not to show any real affection for one another, for the Chasers will beat, strangle, or even hang one girl in front of the other by her own stockings if the girls are believed to be friends. It has become so dangerous, we do not even look each other in the eyes at supper, although there is so many of us now, it is hard not to.

This is terribly unfortunate for the Striped Stocking Society and other girls who are friends or lovers, though I feel I have fallen on the more unfortunate side of this issue. No longer can I curl up beside Emily at night or walk beside her, hand in hand, in the Walking Yard. I cannot even sit beside her at meals on a regular basis for fear of the Chasers taking notice. If Emily was hung before me, because of me, I would never forgive myself. I would do something crazy enough for them to take my life too, at least so I could follow her, to the stars…

I can tell Emily is feeling the brunt of this ordeal, too, as she looks even paler than she did after the miscarriage. The stress of remembering hand signals, watching over other inmates, staying up until all hours just banging spoons to hide other noises, never knowing when a Chaser will strike…I can see the hollowness of her cheeks and emptiness in her eyes. I want to fill that void, even if it fills with tears, but I can no longer look at Emily without feeling guilty for potentially putting her in danger.

So we make our hand signals, tell each other we love each other every day in the language of the Striped Stocking Society. And once, in one moment of weakness, the Captain rallies the other girls to create a barricade by the Asylum's bars so no Chaser can look inside and see me passionately kissing Emily, as though it is the last time we'll ever see each other again.

Xxx

Emily's POV: (LII-LV)

I am back, Diary, and what an eventful time it has been!

Finally, we have defeated the doctors and can live in semi-peace. How proud I am of my lovely Veronica, for she finally got to throw that knife she has been dreaming of. Killed Doctor Greavesly, even! I could not have been happier.

I have been considering for a while, Diary, and I believe my decision, and the other inmates' decisions, to stay in the Asylum was the right choice. We have no place in the world now, beaten and starved as we are, and though that should sadden me I am overjoyed staring at my fellow inmates – no, sisters. Now, we are free.

My one fear, while suggesting we stay, was that my dear Veronica would leave. Of course, all she ever speaks of is her lovely days in the dance hall. I even tried pleading: "Who will teach me to throw a knife properly?" Perhaps that was piteous, but I could not let my darling go without a word to the contrary.

Luckily, Veronica never seemed to have the thought in her head to leave me. "We shall renovate the stage!" she proclaimed, gesturing in the direction of Doctor Greavesly's former Operating Theatre. "This Danger Dame is ready to step into the light…a private show for you girls, of course."

Well, one private show becomes two, and then three, until Veronica performs at the Theatre every night and never mentions 'I'm leaving tomorrow' again.

I say, as crazy as it sounds, I am considering taking our relationship to the next level. Other girls who have shared secret romances with other inmates have been proposing, since we have been bonded closer than any partnership that has ever seen the day. Not to mention, the girls have been living and operating beside one another for nearly three years, for the majority of the time, and are more than ready to make an official pairing. Two girls have already had a wedding, I do believe their names are Contessa and Maggie…no, Maggots…

As we have many skilled women living amongst ourselves, we find that some know how to officiate weddings. However, I feel I am not yet ready to speak to one of these women. For now, I am content to watch my dear Veronica performing her favorite Burlesque routines on stage and cheer louder than anyone else in the house. Not even disease (which we finally have the means to cure!) can keep me from one of her shows.

Many of the girls had been deposited here by wealthy families who left them with full purses, convinced that the richer the girls, the better cared for they would be – so we now have the means to live as frivolously as we please for the rest of our days. (I have already bought a new corset to give to Veronica for her next performance!) Despite all this, we are never greedy, and continue to welcome new inmates. The sane girls join our strange society and are welcomed with open arms, while the truly mad girls now have real safety, real _asylum,_ within our striped walls.

For once, we are truly happy. We care for the plague rats and leeches, teach other inmates our skills, and dine on tea and cakes every day at four o' clock. Veronica teaches a class on knife throwing, though I have yet to get it down pat. Sir Edward teaches young rats poetry, and I have even joined in with my own 'How To Break a Heart' poem.

Now, however, we have put aside the classes and baking and painting and all other luxurious endeavors for a real occasion: The celebration of New Year's Eve. I have devoted months to the composition of a new musical work to be presented at midnight, and the girls in the kitchen have planned a lavish, highest-of-the-high tea, complete with croquembouche, a pirate ship made of sugar, and plenty of champagne. Veronica has been planning a new 'nymphomaniacal' burlesque act, and the Captain and I have been practicing a choreographed sword fight.

The ball is beginning, and we ascend the steps of the Asylum to the rooftop in anticipation of the evening's first dance. I look quite lovely, if I do say so myself, in a white dress and shimmering floral corset (complete with striped stockings, of course). This is a celebration of freedom and unity, our night of all nights.

At last, it is time for the festival. I and the other inmates run up the stairs, leading to the rooftop dancefloor, lined with teacups housing flickering votives.

Veronica runs up to me, looking excited. "It's so beautiful!" she squeals, gesturing broadly with her arms. And it is true. The roof is decorated with flower petals and fairy lights, fires in stone hearths, decorative bouquets, silk curtains, and paper lanterns. I even see a rat carved from ice nearby, surely made by a talented inmate from a chunk of the Hydrotherapy chambers.

I smile. "Just you wait." I grab her hand, and as soon as the band sounds the first note of the evening, a blinding shower of sparks explodes into the star-filled sky.

Veronica gasps, and turns to me in shock. "You did this?!"

I chuckle. "That I did. Now…would you like to dance?"

Veronica takes my hand. "I would be honored."

At first I think the band will play a more up-tempo song, so Veronica and I can perform one of the Vaudeville acts, but to my surprise the band plays a slower song. I have heard it before, it is called 'The Art of…' something or other. I do not quite remember.

Veronica laces one hand with mine, and wraps her other around my neck. Likewise, I place my free hand around her waist, and we slowly waltz back and forth. "I didn't know you knew how to slow-dance," says Veronica.

"I learned a bit in the Music Conservatoire," I say. "Sachiko and I used to practice every night, making up our own moves and such. I am glad I get to share the experience with you, now."

Veronica blushes. "I'm glad, too."

 _'_ _Under the arches of moonlight and sky…_ '

I waltz Veronica under a trellis coated in climbing roses. She lifts me and twirls me around, and I look at the sky; the star-studded, moon-dusted sky; and think how absolutely free I am – we are. I had once said, though it feels like a lifetime ago, ' _I'm strong when I am with her_ ,' and there is no time when this phrase is more true. Dancing with Veronica, I feel as free as a bird – though not one of the Asylum vultures – as though I can lift off the ground and dance her through the stars.

My happiness rises within me like a white light, shooting from my toes to my legs and up through my raised arms to my fingertips. I dance quicker, stronger, pulling Veronica against me. I press my lips to her ear and whisper. "This! This is what freedom really feels like!" I then pull her into a hungry, passionate kiss which she is more than happy to return.

Suddenly, I fall to the ground, feeling the building shake beneath me. "Emmy!" yelps Veronica, bending to help me to my feet. However, another rumble knocks her over, onto me. "Well, I wasn't expecting this."

Normally I would smile, but right now I am too surprised to do anything but gape.

"The building is collapsing!" gasps the Captain, as a large heap of concrete falls across the exit.

The inmates are in a panic. The exits are either blocked or crumbling away, and we have nowhere to turn. The Asylum was never meant to last – how could I think it would? Slowly, the ex-inmates realize this too. Joining hands, they begin to jump off the edge of the building in an act of stunning acceptance. I can hardly wrap my head around the idea that once, just once, suicide has become the beautiful thing painted across canvases all across London.

Without a second thought, I stand and take my gorgeous Veronica's hands. I then caress her cheek, and whisper what I wish I had whispered a long time ago. "I love you, my Ronnie. I wish I had asked for your hand."

"I don't think it's too late to say 'I do'," she whispers back, drawing me into a kiss.

 _And when I am buried, at least I was married…_ The words come to me as though from a distant memory – where have they come from?

I lead my true love to the edge of the Asylum's roof, drawing her close to me and leaning in, forehead-to-forehead. The moon shines down upon us, highlighting my lover's gorgeous features – features I hope to see again, in another time, in another life. If this is to be the last time I embrace her, I want to hold onto this memory in the afterlife.

"Goodnight, sweet lady," I whisper. "Someday, we will meet again."

And then we jump, arms encircling each other, holding each other like a lifeline. This is my final task. Not burning to death, not smothered by dust particles, not crushed under piles of concrete, but choosing to die together. Protecting ourselves from a death inflicted by the Asylum – a death we were originally expected to have. Now I can die in my lover's arms. There never will be any place in the world I could be more happy to remain in.

 **The end, folks! I hope you enjoyed, and please write more The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls fanfiction! This book is literally a piece of art, studied in multiple colleges, and I'm so glad Emilie Autumn is making a difference in the field of mental disabilities. Did you notice all the references I made to Emilie Autumn's songs, and even the Bloody Crumpets? What? I couldn't help myself! Every time I learn a new detail about The Asylum Musical, my day brightens up just a little bit more! :D! I hope this story brightens your day, and if it does, feel free to review and tell me as such! Thanks for reading, and bye!**


End file.
